Dreaming Minds
by Vaughn 247
Summary: Formerly: Untitled. This is going slow so far, but it's Syd/Vaughn :)
1. Dreams

"Sydney! Get the hell out of here!" a worried Vaughn yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.  
  
Sydney did not acknowledge his commands, and stepped towards one of the men with guns cautiously. He had his back to her, so she brought her laptop down on his head, jerking away his gun at the same time. She turned and saw Vaughn fighting with two other men, both equipped with guns also.  
  
Suddenly, someone attacked her from behind, and knocked her to the ground. Then Sydney heard gunshots ring out, and the sound of heavy footsteps running away, out of the abandoned warehouse.  
  
Sydney sprang back up, and looked around her. No sign of the attacker or the men anywhere. What was that by the door? Is that a person? She stepped closer, and saw that it was one of Vaughn's attackers lying there, dead by a gunshot wound to the chest. There was a grotesque tattoo of a skull dripping with blood with the words "EBC" below it.  
  
A few feet next to the dead body, lay another person. Sydney could see the back of him, just the black suit and matching trousers. Sydney kneeled down next to him and turned him over gently. A sick feeling rose in her gut. She knew the back of the man. She had stared at it so often, and…She could see the wound on his chest also, and it was bleeding profusely. Her eyes moved from the wound to his gray and ashen face, and her eyes widened in shock, confirming what she wanted not to be true. iVaughn!/i 


	2. The Call

"Sydney! Wake up!" Francie shook her friend roughly.  
  
Sydney's eyes popped open, and the look of fear and horror on her face was evident. Then she took note of her surroundings, and uttered a large sigh of relief. It was just a dream, Bristow. Vaughn is fine. He's probably sleeping right now, which is what you should be doing, she reminded herself.  
  
"What did I do?"  
  
"Scream."  
  
"I did?"  
  
Francie nodded. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"  
  
Sydney let out a small snicker that was practically inaudible, and could have possibly been taken for an intake of air. Bad dream? That was an understatement.  
  
But she nodded. "Sorry for waking you up. I'm really tired right now, and I have to get up early for work tomorrow…"  
  
"Don't worry, I'll just ask you about it tomorrow," Francie joked, running a hand through her messed up hair.  
  
Sydney smiled her thanks as Francie walked out of her room, closing it gently behind her. Then she fell into her thoughts again. Didn't I have a dream that Danny would be badly hurt just a few months before it happened? What if my dream really meant something…What if…  
  
She reached over to her nightstand, picked up the cordless phone, and started dialing the number she had committed to memory without thinking.  
  
----  
  
Vaughn groaned as the sharp ringing of the telephone next to his bed jarred him from his well needed sleep. Who the hell could it be, calling this late? He asked himself, reading the time off his radio. 2:37, it read in black numbers, the black contrasting with the neon green background of the small screen. He felt for his phone, and pressed the 'TALK' button and brought it to his ear slowly.  
  
"Hello?" he said in a sleepy voice.  
  
"Vaughn? I'm so sorry to wake you, and I have no idea why I called now," Sydney's equally tired voice crackled through the line.  
  
"Sydney? What's wrong?" he asked, immediately awake, although he was still lying on his bed, his head on top of a pillow.  
  
"Oh, it was nothing."  
  
"Sydney, you know you can talk to me," Vaughn said gently.  
  
"…well, I had this dream, nightmare actually. I had one just like it before Danny died, and…"  
  
"What about?"  
  
"Well, you and me were in some warehouse, with a few big men with guns…I think they all had a tattoo on their arms…skulls dripping with blood and the letters EBC or something underneath…Well anyway, you told me to get the hell out, but I didn't. I think someone knocked me to the ground, and…killed you," Sydney summed her nightmare up in just a few sentences.  
  
Vaughn was silent, half wishing it wasn't a cordless phone, so he could twirl the cord around his fingers. It was the bad habit that always came up when he was stressed or nervous, that had developed at the office. It was either the cord or the coin.  
  
"Look, I'm not expecting you to analyze my dream, because I know you're not a psychologist," Sydney started.  
  
"No, it's OK," Vaughn interrupted. Sydney fell silent.  
  
"Well…" Vaughn began, "Maybe you're right. I'm not going to analyze it, because I don't know where to start and how. But I will give you one piece of advice. Go to sleep. Just sleep it off, and start the day tomorrow clean and fresh."  
  
"Yeah, it is pretty late isn't it?" Sydney asked in an apologetic tone. She was relieved that he didn't think her crazy.  
  
"I wasn't that tired anyway," Vaughn lied.  
  
"Vaughn, don't try to make me feel better. It's not working."  
  
"Feel better for what?"  
  
"For waking you up so late, or should I say, so early?"  
  
Suddenly, Sydney let out a loud yawn.  
  
"Go to sleep Syd. I'll see you tomorrow probably," Vaughn said.  
  
"OK. Thanks for listening," Sydney replied. "Bye."  
  
"Yeah, bye," Vaughn responded, listening to the click and the following dial tone that rang monotonously in his ear. Where is Barnett when you need her? Vaughn asked himself just before his eyes closed again, the phone lying on the pillow next to him. 


	3. EBC

The next day, Sydney entered the conference room where Sloane, Dixon, and Marshall were already waiting. Sloane greeted Sydney by giving her a displeased glance.  
  
As she sank down into her seat, she read the time off her watch. Ten o'clock sharp. She wasn't late.  
  
"OK, we've just gotten info on the science fiction novelist Paul Johansson."  
  
"Science fiction novelist?"  
  
"Yes Agent Bristow. We have found out that his works aren't entirely fiction," Sloane replied, clicking a button that changed the screens of all the computers in the room. He focused on the large TV screen in the front of the room.  
  
"This is Johansson. And this…" Sloane said, pressing yet another button on his remote. "Is the information we had intercepted from him to the KGB. Apparently, Johansson had been focusing on a small machine that would release a deadly virus with just a push of a button. That doesn't sound like much, because anyone could just take a strain of a fatal virus and infect people with it, but this gadget would make it possible for people, specifically the KGB, to possibly kill an entire country with just one push. Not a country with the size of the United States, but probably one like Japan. Marshall?"  
  
"Right. Right. OK, Ms. Bristow? I would like to present you with one of our new inventions. The "See-Through" glasses. See, what you do, is put them on like this…and you know how some women like to fix their glasses all the time? Well, these glasses make it possible for you to see through things. Like walls, doors, as long as it isn't cement. But as we already know, well, you don't know yet…but you will. The entire safe and building where this small machine is located, is made of wood. Which is pretty stupid if you think about it, because it could just…OK, ahem. Well, you put these on, and push this tiny button down, right here, and then you'll see through everything. These will let you see if there are any security guards in the building through the walls. Pretty high-tech, huh?" Marshall grinned.  
  
Sydney smiled at him.  
  
"OK, Sydney, you and Dixon will go to Russia tomorrow, and exchange the small gadget with an identical one, that Marshall will supply you with later. It is vital that you obtain it," Sloane emphasized.  
  
-----  
  
"So what's my counter mission?" Sydney asked, looking down at her hands. She twirled her engagement ring around on her fourth finger.  
  
Vaughn looked at her for a second, and replied, "Well, you'll do what they say, except you'll just give the real one to the CIA, and here, it's another identical one. You'll give this to SD-6," Vaughn handed her a small black gadget in a plastic Zip-Loc bag.  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"That's it."  
  
Sydney placed the plastic bag into her shoulder bag, and continued to look at her hands.  
  
"Sydney –"  
  
"I'm really sorry about yesterday," Sydney cut him off.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because…it's against protocol," Sydney replied, noticing that her ring was somewhat fading in luster.  
  
"Sydney, I've said this before, and if you don't believe me, ask Weiss. Screw protocol," Vaughn said seriously.  
  
"Plus, I probably woke you up. What was I thinking? Calling you at three?" Sydney scolded herself out loud.  
  
"Actually, it was only two thirty," Vaughn said, smiling lightly.  
  
"Vaughn…stop trying to make me feel better. I've said that before."  
  
"Only if you'd stop making yourself feel bad," Vaughn promised.  
  
Sydney was silent.  
  
"But seriously, I'm glad you called. I remember telling you that you had my number," Vaughn reminisced.  
  
"I remember too," Sydney smiled, feeling some kind of weird connection between the two of them.  
  
"OK, let's stop with all the "do you remembers," and just concentrate on the present."  
  
"Good idea," Sydney agreed. "But it might be a problem for me. Everything about me is about my past. My mom…Danny."  
  
"You'll get past it," Vaughn replied. "And if you have trouble…call me. Believe me, it works to talk to someone about it. When my father died, I spilled my guts to my friend, and he helped me get over the fact that I would never see my father again."  
  
"What happened to him? Your friend I mean."  
  
"We were best friends throughout elementary, middle, and high school, but then we got into different colleges, and we just kinda…drifted apart. He got a new bunch of friends, and I got mine," Vaughn reminisced.  
  
"Oh," Sydney replied lamely.  
  
"Yeah," Vaughn smiled sardonically, as if he was ashamed or something about telling her about himself.  
  
----  
  
"I suppose the mission was a success?" Sloane questioned, taking the gadget which he assumed was real into his hands.  
  
Sydney nodded. I suppose that's the reason I'm standing here right now, she thought sarcastically. Marshall's glasses had made everything so simple and easy, and she hadn't even encountered a guard.  
  
"Good job Sydney," he smiled.  
  
"Thanks," she mustered. How do I work for this evil man? Maybe I should take Will's and Francie's advice sometime…  
  
"Well, I know you have other work to do, so I'll let you go. I'll page you if I need you."  
  
----  
  
"Good job Sydney," Vaughn greeted. "The CIA's running tests on the device, and after they're done, they'll lock it up somewhere, where people won't have access to it."  
  
"I've never like science fiction," Sydney replied out of nowhere.  
  
"Me either."  
  
"So…" Sydney said, crossing her arms across her chest.  
  
Vaughn looked up at her for a second, and then dropped his gaze down to his feet again, looking very uncomfortable.  
  
"What's wrong?" Sydney asked.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You look preoccupied."  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Vaughn…"  
  
"OK, OK…I kinda went on our database, and searched for that tattoo you described, the one with the skull and the letters EBC…and it turns out that it wasn't just something you dreamed up. The EBC is the European version of the KGB, and from what I've heard, they're even more deadly. Also, we have access to their computer system, through a bug we planted years ago, which miraculously, they haven't detected…and they're looking for the Rambaldi artifacts also. They've already killed a KGB agent to gain access to the fake code."  
  
"EBC…what does that stand for?"  
  
"European British Conquest," Vaughn replied.  
  
"Interesting…Well, why haven't we learned about them before?"  
  
"Probably because they've been keeping a low profile in the…business, but they're resurfacing again for the Rambaldi artifacts. The EBC already has the code to decipher something he wrote, but we don't know what yet."  
  
"Wow, you did some researching."  
  
"That's what happens when you have nothing else to do."  
  
"The hockey game still stands," Sydney offered. Was he really that lonely? Sure, she didn't hear much about his social life, but then again, she never questioned…  
  
"Sydney, you know we can't be seen in public, even though I want to."  
  
"I know." 


	4. Modeling?!

Why did I say no? Vaughn asked himself. Actually, it was more like, kicking himself mentally. How many times have I told Weiss "screw protocol?" So many I can't even count. So why can't I just say the three little words? "I'd like to." Hardly tough to say.  
  
He sighed, downing all the water in his water bottle as he kept his eyes on the computer screen. Researching the EBC was not easy. In fact, information was almost sparse about them, except in their own system. But even that wasn't much help. Logging on to the EBC's system for longer than 30 minutes would raise suspicion, and they would probably be able to track him down.  
  
----  
  
Sloane was standing right next to the large screen TV in the conference room, the remote in his hand as usual. Sydney, Dixon, Marshall, and Jack were all seated in their usual seats.  
  
"Sydney, this next mission is somewhat of a different one from any other you've gone on. It's not hard, but it's just what you have to do."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"See this man? Norman Wake. He is the corporate owner of a large modeling agency that has given name to Armani, DKNY, Calvin Klein, Vera Wang, you name it. However, we have suspicions that he is holding something of great value to the enemies. A book that holds information about the atomic bomb he is helping to make. Apparently, he wants to take over the world, and like Marshall says, yes, like Pinky and the Brain," Sloane raised an eyebrow.  
  
Sydney exchanged glances with Dixon, both stifling snickers.  
  
"To the point. Sydney, you will pose as Noelle White, aspiring model. You will model on the runway in his show in Paris. Marshall has all the little details, and you will learn to be a model from him also. However, this isn't any fashion show. In this show, the models will choose their own dress, gown, or outfit, and they will show it off to the cameramen and celebrities."  
  
"A model?"  
  
"That's right Ms. Bristow," Marshall smiled. "Don't worry, I've got a pair of diamond earrings for you, but you'll have to pick out the dress."  
  
"Yes, and don't worry about the cost. It's on us," Jack cut in.  
  
"Right. Go for the best looking outfit you can find, and buy it no matter the price. Mr. Wake apparently chooses the top three models –"  
  
"Like the Olympics kinda, 'cept with clothing, not athletic skills," Marshall interrupted.  
  
"…Right…Anyway, he chooses the top three models, and invites them over to his house for dinner. That is when you are going to make the switch. The book is in his desk in his study, which is right next to the dining room. Obviously, he does not keep it under much security, probably because he never expects people over. Marshall?"  
  
"What? Oh, right. OK. Once you get into his house, say you have to go to the bathroom or something…to powder your nose, whatever. Then get into his study and the book is in the second drawer to the left. Take it, and switch it with this," Marshall held up an ancient looking thing. "And slip the real thing into this bag. This bag is savvy enough to be coordinated into your outfit, and it's also big enough to hold the book. It has secret compartments. This one right here, is where you will put it. Then zip it back up, and no one can tell it's anything more than a bag. Oh, and Ms. Bristow? I'm looking forward to our modeling sessions," he smiled as his cheeks turned pink.  
  
----  
  
"Modeling? Oh boy," Sydney said out loud at the warehouse that night.  
  
"It's the best way to get in," Vaughn tried, but to no avail.  
  
"But modeling? And I'll have to waste precious time to go find an outfit."  
  
"Well…actually, the CIA already has one for you. They added all little devices on it, like my favorite, the picture-taking pearls. But anyway, Devlin wants you to come down tomorrow afternoon to look it over. And to make sure you like it. It's not a dress…but more like a matching pantsuit thing. It's casual but elegant at the same time."  
  
"Are you my personal Calvin Klein?" Sydney joked.  
  
"Hey, I was quoting the device-makers," Vaughn defended himself.  
  
Sydney laughed. "But seriously, thank them for making the outfit. I don't have time to go around shopping for stuff."  
  
Vaughn nodded.  
  
"So I guess my counter mission is to take pictures of the book and give it to you?" Sydney asked.  
  
"Right. I guess this is getting to be pretty routine," Vaughn thought out loud. 


End file.
